


Much More Unique Than the Other Guys

by LayALioness



Series: (belated) Bellarke Week! [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Danny Phantom Crossover, ghost!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayALioness/pseuds/LayALioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts, for everyone else, with Bellamy saving Ark City by destroying a giant meat monster in the high school cafeteria.<br/>For Bellamy, it starts when his two best friends—and busybody little sister—goad him into exploring the Phantom Portal his parents built.</p><p>“But think about all the common-day applications,” Wick argues.</p><p>“Like what,” Octavia chirps, “Reenacting Ghostbusters?”</p><p>“Like, exploring the Ghost Realm, delving deep into the other side—you know, like archeologists, or something.”</p><p>“You mean, like Ghostbusters?” Octavia points out, and Raven cackles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Much More Unique Than the Other Guys

**Author's Note:**

> this took an insane amount of time to finish because I am easily distracted, oops. the ending isn't really what I wanted, but I really just needed to be done with this fic.
> 
> if you haven't seen the show Danny Phantom, why not? what were you doing between ages 7 and 12, because clearly you weren't living life right.
> 
> title from Danny Phantom's theme song.

It starts, for everyone else, with Bellamy saving Ark City by destroying a giant meat monster in the high school cafeteria.

For Bellamy, it starts when his two best friends—and busybody little sister—goad him into exploring the Phantom Portal his parents built, back when his dad was still alive. It’s been out of use for close to eleven years—not that it was ever really _in_ use, since it never actually _worked_ , but. Mainly now it’s just a neat thing to show off at parties.

At least, that’s what Raven says. Wick’s a little more complicated; Bellamy has to keep stopping him from taking the whole machine apart, to see if he can fix it.

“I don’t care if you _can_ fix it; don’t.” Bellamy growls one Friday night. If they were more popular, they’d be at Finn Collins’s party right now. But for the most part, Bellamy spends all his time with the two friends he’s had since kindergarten, and his little sister, which doesn’t really get him elected Prom King. Raven, at least, was _invited_ , but has elected not to go because if she does, she’ll probably just drink too much and either get back together with Collins, or pour bleach on all his clothes.

Octavia was invited too, but instead she’s hanging out with them in the basement, helping Raven make a Ouija board out of magazine clippings. She claims it’s out of loyalty, but Bellamy suspects she’s just hoping he’ll give in and let her have some of his vodka-skittles. It tastes _awful_ , which is part of the reason they drink it; the taste is supposed to make sure they don’t drink too much, but usually they just chug it until they don’t taste anything at all.

“But think about all the common-day applications,” Wick argues amiably. Bellamy’s pretty sure Wick is _always_ in a good mood, but never so much as when he’s disagreeing with someone.

“Like what,” Octavia chirps, “Reenacting _Ghostbusters_?”

Raven snorts as she turns a picture of Karlie Kloss into an ornament for her board, which is looking less like a horror movie prop and more like a fourth grader’s art project. He’s pretty sure she’s only doing it to mess with them—she always comes up with something new to mock his mom’s job with. Words aren’t enough for Raven; she needs backdrops. He suspects that’s the real reason she became a Goth. Well, that, and to freak out her foster mom.

“ _Like_ , exploring the Ghost Realm, delving deep into the other side—you know, like archeologists, or something.”

“You mean, like _Ghostbusters_?” Octavia points out, and Raven cackles.

“Forget it,” Bellamy snaps, aiming a finger at Wick to let him know he’s serious. Wick just looks back at him, amused. “Don’t go in, near, or around the machine. Don’t even _look_ at the machine. I don’t care if the cure to fucking cancer is on the other side—it’s not worth it.”

Considering that his dad was the last person to step into the Portal, and then never walked back out, Bellamy knows what he’s talking about. Aurora tried to go after her husband, but the Portal shut off the moment she opened the door, and it hasn’t turned back on, sense. She spent most of Bellamy’s childhood visiting experts and mechanical engineers all over the world, her kids and her life’s work in tow, but it was always the same; they’d scratch their heads and never have the answer. Eventually, she just stopped trying, and the Portal was left in the basement to gather dust, and occasionally be poked at by their neighbors at a barbeque.

Also, tantalize Wick for his entire life, but that was just a bonus.

“Maybe Wick’s right, Bell,” Octavia says quietly. She’s using her _I’m serious and if you try to treat me like a kid for it I will skin you with my teeth_ voice, but when he whips around to stare at her, she’s smirking. Great; so his asshole best friends are turning his sister against him. He knew it was only a matter of time. She’s recently become a teenager and is struggling with puberty, and her newfound angst and irrational anger. Mostly it just means she takes longer, hotter showers and shouts a lot, but sometimes she’ll throw things.

“Wick, right?” Bellamy grins, “Never thought I’d hear those words in the same sentence.”

“Miracles happen every day,” Raven says dryly, and Wick blows her a kiss. “But I’m with little Blake on this. There might be something in there that could really help people.”

“Or kill them,” Bellamy says, “And steal their souls. Even if there _is_ some sort of cure for humanity, it’s not worth the risk.”

“What risk?” Wick presses. “Blake, the thing’s been dark for _eleven years_ —I’m just saying, maybe we can poke around a little. See what we see, if there’s a loose wire or something. _Then_ we get the professionals to do the dirty work.”

“Why are you so against this?” Raven asks, flicking at her hair with black fingernails.

“He’s scared,” Octavia says helpfully, and Bellamy glares at her. She shrugs. “It’s true. Ba-cock!” She folds up her arms and imitates flapping chicken wings.

“You’re such a brat,” Bellamy glowers. Octavia throws one of Raven’s sliced up _People Magazine_ ’s at his head.

“Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s cool,” Wick shrugs with a grin. “I’ll do the poking around. Just get me one of your parents’ ghost suits.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and swigs the last of his drink before standing. He wants to tell himself he’s not about to do this just because his kid sister called him a chicken, but. After fourteen years, she’s pretty adept at getting him to do things.

The worst part is he _knows_ he’s being manipulated, but he _still does it_. So, the way he figures it, he pretty much deserves whatever’s about to happen to him.

Plus, he knows if he doesn’t go in there, Wick absolutely will, and he’d rather not let one of his best friends get vaporized, or transported to some different plane of existence.

He finds his dad’s old jumpsuit in with the Easter lawn ornaments and O’s old baby clothes. It’s white, and rubber. It chafes a little, and his dad must have been shorter than him, because the pant legs only reach his ankles. It smells mostly like mold and mothballs, but he can pretend he smells the Old Spice aftershave his dad used.

“Wish me luck,” he says as he reaches for the door.

“Don’t die,” Raven chirps, filming the whole thing with her phone. Wick’s wearing a welder’s mask, and standing a few feet away so he can watch.

“But if you do, can I have your room?” Octavia asks. Bellamy makes a face at her.

“If I die, I’m haunting you,” he swears. “ _All_ of you. Forever.”

“Wow,” Raven rolls her eyes. “Even as a ghost, you have no social life.”

“You’ll have plenty of social death though,” Wick says helpfully. Bellamy sighs, grips the latch, and walks through.

Bellamy doesn’t actually _remember_ anything after that, but since Raven filmed the whole thing, he sees what he missed. Mostly it looks like a big ball of lightning, swallowing the machine and a good bit of the basement. He can hear Octavia scream his name, and then sob, and when he sees the video the first time, he feels a little bit smug at that.

When he comes to, it’s half an hour later, and he’s lying on his back, dragged up the stairs and spread out on the couch. His mom’s hunting some dairy farmer’s ghost up in Wisconsin, so it’s just them. He wakes up to Wick and Raven arguing over calling an ambulance—Raven wants to, but Wick’s worried they’ll lock him up in some top secret government warehouse. Bellamy doesn’t really get that last part until he tries to sit up, and promptly falls through the couch.

“You’re such an idiot,” Raven says with a glare.

Bellamy raises a hand to feel his head, but he can’t see anything at all. When he holds out his arm, it’s see-through. The vague outline of the limb is there, and he can wiggle his transparent fingers, but the sofa and floorboards show through.

“What the fuck,” he breathes, and suddenly Wick is beside him with a stethoscope and the thermometer from Aurora’s garden outside.

“Say _ah_ ,” Wick commands, but Bellamy just swats at him. It doesn’t work, of course, and his arm goes straight through Wick’s torso. Wick looks equal parts horrified and ecstatic.

Raven just looks really pissed. “What the _fuck_ ,” she echoes. “What the hell did you _do_ , Blake?”

“I’m sorry, I’m still a little stuck on the fact that I’m incorporeal now,” Bellamy snaps.

“Do you think you can walk through walls now?” Wick asks. He takes a selfie with transparent-Bellamy, and posts it to Instagram, captioning it #ghostbuddies, #whoyougonnacall, and #myboogoesboo.

Monty, a kid from Bellamy’s computer class, likes it pretty much instantly and comments _wow cool filter what app is it?_

“Well at least they’re not mobbing with pitchforks,” Raven muses. Bellamy puts a tentative hand through the wall next to him, going through the couch. He goes up to the shoulder, and then rolls all the way through until he’s in the dining room next door. He walks back and stands in the middle of the sofa.

“I think it’s safe to say I can walk through walls,” he says, and then begins to _hover_.

“Wow, you’re like dead Superman,” Wick decides, snapping another picture. Raven slaps the phone from his hands and glares.

“He was solid when we dragged him to the couch,” she says, “So he’s clearly not _dead_ -dead. We just need to get him back to normal, before O and Aurora come home.”

“Where is O?” Bellamy asks. He’s steadily moving towards the ceiling, but he’s not controlling it, so he’s a little worried he might float all the way through the roof. Maybe through the stratosphere. He doesn’t think he’s breathing right now, so he probably won’t die in space, but he’d still prefer not to go there.

“I sent her to your aunt’s,” Raven explains, awkward. “I didn’t want her to see—whatever was about to happen.”

“You thought I was going to die,” Bellamy guesses, and she scowls.

“I wouldn’t have sent you in there if I’d _known_ ,” she defends, and Bellamy raises both hands in surrender.

“I didn’t say that,” he starts.

“And nobody _thinks_ that,” Wick finishes, putting a hand on her shoulder. She leans into the touch a little, like a cat that wants the affection but doesn’t want you to know that. Wick has been slowly but surely dragging her out of her prickly shell. It’s a process. “I sent him in too, remember?”

“Yeah, you both killed me,” Bellamy says cheerfully. He’s stopped floating, and now he’s sort of resting with his back against the ceiling, staring down at his friends. The ceiling fan blades keep slicing through his head, and he can’t feel it, but it still makes him flinch a little.

“Can you come down?” Raven demands. “You look like the Grudge!” Wick makes the creepy Grudge noise, and Raven hits him in the throat.

“I can try,” Bellamy says doubtfully. He sort of likes the floating. He thinks about drifting back down to the floor, and then squints like that might help. He tries pushing off of the ceiling, but his arms just go right through. Finally, he sighs. “I guess not—”

“Raven?” Octavia calls from the front door, just one room over. She sniffs, like she’s been crying. “Wick? Is Bell—where is he?”

All at once, Bellamy is seized by fear; he can’t let his sister see him like this. He’s not sure why—it probably has something to do with how small she sounds, how afraid—but she _can’t_ know he’s some sort of ghost. She’ll probably cry, and a crying Octavia is more terrifying than angry Octavia. It makes him feel empty inside, and fucking _pissed_ at the world for being shitty and making her cry.

Suddenly he is very tangible, and the fan blade hooks into his head. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, and then he falls down to the ground with a shout.

“Bell?” Octavia calls, running into the room, cheeks red and hair flying. She stares down at where he lies, crumpled and groaning on the floor. “What happened?” she demands.

“Your brother—” Raven starts, but Bellamy cuts her off and sits up with a wince.

“Is possibly concussed, but ultimately fine,” he says. “Sorry if I worried you.”

Octavia’s eyes go stormy with rage, and he can’t help but grin. “ _Sorry if I worried you_ ,” she sputters, looking for something to throw at him. In the end, she chooses her shoe. Bellamy dodges it pleasantly—at least she’s not crying.

And when she simmers down enough to give him a crushing hug, he can hug her back, so. He figures that’s the end of it.

He’s wrong.

“We should name it,” Wick decides, poking at what used to be a sentient giant meat monster, and is now just a lot of ground beef. “I vote Frankenmeat.”

“We should mount it, like a deer head,” Raven argues. “Your first ghost-kill as Invisi-Bell.”

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Bellamy asks tiredly. He’s solid again, and so exhausted his vision’s starting to blur.

It’s been a month since he entered the Phantom Portal, and he’s since managed to gain _some_ control over his powers. Those first few weeks, he’s sporadically go intangible, and sink through the floor, or walk through a wall. Eventually, he learned how to _not_ do that, and also how to fly with actual purpose.

The flying’s the best part, he decides. The plasma he can blast from his hands is pretty cool too.

Wick has started a whole Instagram account for ghost-Bellamy, and it has more followers than his real one. They think he’s some sort of photoshop wizard. Ghost-Bellamy looks different enough that no one seems to recognize him; the see-through skin probably has something to do with that, but his hair also goes white, and his eyes blue, his jumpsuit black.

“You look like a comic book character,” Raven muses the first night he goes ghost on purpose.

 _Going ghost_ is what Wick calls it, and it sort of sticks since Bellamy can’t come up with anything better. He’s a sucker for alliteration.

“It’s _awesome_ ,” Wick agrees, handing Bellamy his latest invention. It looks like a vacuum hose that he’s sawn in half, and attached to a small Nerf gun. “This will help aim your plasma, and broaden your range.”

Wick always invented stuff, ever since they were kids and he first took apart his family’s toaster to turn it into a radio controlled car. But his creations never worked, or at least never the way they were supposed to—they’d malfunction, or fall apart, or jam up. He has shoeboxes filled with forgotten half-finished robots, piled in his garage.

So it was a bit of a surprise, when the potato launcher that had never actually fired, burst to life the moment Bellamy’s transparent alter-ego touched it. Since then, Wick’s been building a small arsenal for Bellamy, like some weird paranormal version of Lucius Fox. That would probably make Raven Alfred, but if Bellamy ever mentioned that, she’d probably kill him, herself.

After leaving the school cafeteria a disaster area, Bellamy wonders how he ever managed to avoid ghosts before. They’re everywhere, now—in his school, in his neighborhood, in the coffee shop O likes to go to flirt with the cashier. And they’re all searching for Invisi-Bell, which is the official name of his ghostly alter-ego, because Raven’s the worst.

Apparently, in destroying a fellow ghost, Bellamy managed to break some cardinal rule for phantoms, which means he’s enemy number one in ghost-town. He also happens to be enemy number one in Ark City, wanted for vigilantism. Why they can’t just all thank him for saving the world, and then leave him alone, he’s not sure.

“Turns out all you had to do to be popular, is sort of die,” Wick crows, clapping Bellamy’s shoulder fondly. “Who knew?” He’s poking around Aurora’s ghost hunting equipment, because he’s an absolute _terror_ when he whines, and Bellamy didn’t have the energy to argue. His mom’s at her sister’s, anyway, so she probably won’t even know.

He cringes at the thought, because he knows better. She _always_ knows.

Almost as if called by his thoughts, which—well, it’s not like he knows the details of _all_ of his abilities—Aurora calls into the house as she opens the door. “Kids? Anyone home?”

They’re in the sitting-room-turned-ghost-equipment-room, which means they have two options; say nothing, and hope they can slip out the back door in time, or call back and try to sneak into the kitchen.

Bellamy and Wick share a look before shouting, “Hey mom,” and “Hi, Mrs. Blake!” in tandem. But they don’t get a chance to sneak out.

“What are you boys up to?” Aurora asks from the doorway, and they turn slowly with guilt. She’s still wearing her ghost hunter getup, which is entirely too _tight_ for Bellamy’s liking, and she’s arching one eyebrow in that way that means she knows _exactly_ what they’re up to.

“It’s for purely academic purposes,” Wick blurts.

“No it’s not,” Bellamy sighs. Aurora can sniff out deceit like a shark sniffs out blood; to be honest, he’s not sure how he’s managed to hide the whole phantom thing for so long. He’s chalking it up to the fact that she’s out of town a lot for work, and isn’t about to just assume her son spends his nights fighting invisible crime, invisibly.

“No, it’s not,” Wick agrees. “It’s for purely geek purposes, because I have a problem. They’re just so _pretty_ ,” he eyes the Thermos hungrily. Bellamy’s shied away from that tool in particular, lately; something about the hand-held ghost prison just doesn’t really _appeal_ to him.

“They are,” Aurora smirks, petting the Thermos like a cat, and then moving to unlace her boots. “But you both know the rules; you’re not supposed to be in here without permission. These aren’t toys, Kyle,” she says sternly, flinging her left boot across the room. It’s clear, where Octavia gets it from. “They’re expensive, and rare, and _dangerous_. Don’t let me catch you in here again.”

“We won’t,” Bellamy chirps, dragging Wick off into the kitchen.

Raven’s at the library, which wouldn’t be so strange in itself, except she’s there for a meeting about the merits of _veganism_ , which he knows for a fact Raven is firmly against. She’s constantly ranting about how she _has canines for a reason, dammit!_ And he’s not sure he’s ever seen her eat a vegetable. He suspects she’s there undercover, studying the enemy or something, so she can demolish them at a later date.

By the time Wick heads home for dinner, Octavia’s back from her pseudo-date—really she just orders a lot of espresso and pretends to study in a booth, while ogling Lincoln discretely. Bellamy would be upset about it; but Lincoln is newly nineteen, practically mute, and has taken to avoiding Octavia completely. Bellamy isn’t sure Lincoln is capable of human interaction, outside of taking orders and handing back receipts, and even then he doesn’t say anything.

“Have fun _studying_?” Bellamy smirks as she flounces in and grabs a popsicle from the freezer. Aurora is a strict parent by several standards, but she was never really one for _three square meals a day_. Mostly she just tacks a fifty dollar bill to the fridge every week and has them buy whatever they want. “Learn anything?”

“Yeah,” Octavia nods, sucking at the snack so her lips turn blue. “Like how to get rid of annoying older brothers, once and for all.”

“You’d be lost without me,” Bellamy scoffs, and she swats at him.

“I think you mean _ecstatic_ ,” she argues, looking smug. “Or is that too many syllables?”

“What’s another word for _brat_?” he asks dryly. “Oh, wait, I know. It’s _brat_.” He snatches her half-eaten popsicle and shoves it all in his mouth before she can grab it back. He gets a massive brain freeze, but it’s worth it.

By the time Bellamy meets The Gryphon, he’s been half-ghost for three months, and she catches him at kind of a bad moment.

He’s mid-fight with the ghost of some genetic experiment, with fucking _tentacles_ , and it’s not going very well. He just—he doesn’t do well with tentacles, okay?

Bellamy’s known about The Gryphon for years, now. He’s one of the most well-respected ghost hunter in the business, and even worked with his parents a few times. He hasn’t been so active lately, but everyone just sort of assumed he retired or something.

But, here the hunter is, looking regal and serious and glaring hard at Bellamy where he’s just been flung against the warehouse wall. At first, he thinks it’s the fact that he’s lying upside-down on his head; but when Bellamy stands, he sees The Gryphon is at least half a foot shorter than him, and decidedly more _petite_ than he’d imagined. Then again, he’s currently sort of see-through, so he’s not about to judge anyone’s appearance.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The Gryphon hisses, and his voice is rough, like he’s got a sore throat, but not very deep. Bellamy thinks about all the stories his mom has told him about the hunter, and he can’t help feeling a little confused.

“ _You’re_ The Gryphon?” he asks dumbly. The hunter somehow stands up even straighter—he’s still _tiny_ , but—and scowls.

“Of course I am,” he growls. “I’ve got the suit, haven’t I?” That part, at least, is true; The Gryphon wears a dark red jumpsuit, similar to Aurora’s and even Bellamy’s, but his seems to be made of parachute material, rather than leather. It’s looser, and looks way more comfortable. Probably chafes less, too, Bellamy thinks.

“Just stay out of my way,” he snarls, and launches himself towards the ghost with some sort of grappling hook. Bellamy stares, embarrassingly slack-jawed, as he weaves between the tentacles, to blast the beast right in its three massive eyes. Then he whips out a Thermos, a little smaller than Aurora’s, and the ghost is sucked inside with a _pop_.

The Gryphon strides back over to Bellamy, who’s collected himself enough to cross his arms in an attempt to seem casual. He’s impressed, sure, but so far The Gryphon’s been nothing but a dick to him, so he’s not about to ask for his autograph or anything.

“I won’t arrest you, _this time_ ,” he says, and Bellamy blanches. “But I will next time, if you don’t leave my city.”

“ _Your_ city,” Bellamy says, incredulous. “I just—we’re on the same side!”

“No, we’re not,” The Gryphon says. “You’re a phantom, I hunt phantoms. And this is my city, so if you don’t want to end up like the Kraken just did, I suggest you leave.”

Bellamy’s never done well with confrontation and, as previously decided, he’s absolutely terrible at backing down. So he squares his shoulders, stands tall and frowns down at The Gryphon—hero or no hero, he’s not about to let some asshole in a dyed parachute boss him around. “I hate to break it to you, your highness,” he snaps, “But if you want me gone, you’re gonna have to _make_ me.”

The Gryphon scowls. “Have it your way then,” he mutters, and lunges. Bellamy evades him fairly easily—mainly because he can just go intangible and fall through the floor, or let The Gryphon go through _him_.

In the end, they’re pretty evenly matched; The Gryphon has more years on him, and technique, but Bellamy has the superpowers. Plus, every time he hovers out of reach, the hunter just grits his teeth and gets even madder, which is kind of fun.

Eventually, for Bellamy it becomes less about _beating_ him, and more about pissing him the _fuck_ off. So when he sidesteps The Gryphon’s punch, he doesn’t go far, and then reaches out to pluck the mask off his face.

Some hunters, like Aurora, are open about their profession. But others, like The Gryphon, are known for their privacy. People have mused over his real identity for years, but never came up with any real leads. Mostly, Bellamy thinks they just like to gossip.

As the mask—shaped like a malleable helmet, the same color and material as the rest of the costume—pulls away, The Gryphon freezes, stunned. Bellamy freezes too, stunned for a completely different reason.

The Gryphon is a girl. Specifically, a girl his age, with tangled blonde curls falling over her shoulders, and wide blue eyes staring at him in shock.

More specifically, The Gryphon is actually Clarke Griffin, which. Well, now that he thinks about it, it’s a little more obvious. Clarke blinks up at him a few times, before snarling and aiming a kick for his still-tangible solar plexus. She hits her mark, and he doubles over before remembering he doesn’t actually need to breathe in this form. Then he just goes invisible and watches her swing her head all around, searching for where he’s gone. He drifts up towards the roof, but can’t really resist, because he’s a sucker at heart.

“See ya later, princess,” he calls down, and she throws a knife in outrage. He flies all the way home on his back, staring at her mask in his hands.

By now, Invisi-Bell has saved quite a few people he actually knows—including Roma, the girl he’s had a crush on since they were awkward fourteen year old’s in math class. She used to let him cheat on her notes. She’s since pretty much forgotten about him, and risen to the highest rung on the popularity ladder, but she flirted pretty heavily with his ghost self, and then ignored him the next day at school. So he’s pretty confident that Clarke didn’t actually recognize him—after all, it’s not like they run in the same circles. He hasn’t actually spoken to her since the fourth grade.

But Clarke Griffin slides smoothly in beside him at the cafeteria table, and he pauses, pizza slice halfway to his mouth, and stares at her. She doesn’t meet his gaze, instead carefully unpacking her Vera Bradley lunchbox. It’s all very PBS; a banana _and_ a Ziploc baggie of apple slices, along with an artisan vegetable sandwich on rye bread, and a bottle of Vitamin Water. Bellamy didn’t even know real people actually _ate_ like that, other than celebrities.

Finally, as she lifts the sandwich from its Tupperware, Clarke glances at him with a raised brow. “What, I thought you said we’re on the same side,” she smirks and takes a bite.

Thinking back on it, this is probably the first moment where Bellamy falls a little bit in love with Clarke Griffin. At the time, though, he’s mostly just confused.

‘How’d you know it was me?” he asks, and she scoffs.

“I’m not an amateur,” she says around arugula and almond butter. There’s a smudge of her weird sauce, in the corner of her mouth, and he wants to wipe it off. “We go to the same school. I do know what you look like.”

She shrugs like it’s obvious, which it kind of is, but no one _ever_ recognized him, so he’s not really used to it. He’s still trying to respond, when Raven and Wick slot into place across the table.

“Clarke,” Raven says, sort-of pleasantly. Bellamy and Wick turn to stare at her, but she ignores them. Raven, by principle, is not _pleasant_. She believes in making everything as difficult as possible for everyone else, and if they decide to stick around, _then_ she lightens up. Plus, she’d called Clarke by her _first name_ , which Raven also does not do. She refers to everyone by their surname, like some army general. Wick says it’s her form of affection, but Bellamy’s pretty sure she just has commitment issues.

“Hey, Raven,” Clarke chirps, and Bellamy’s pretty sure he’s dead—like, _dead_ -dead. Or at least dying. “How much do you know about Bellamy’s late-night hobbies?” Raven and Wick glance between them for a long moment.

“You mean, like how he sometimes walks through walls and saves the world?” Raven says slowly, like she’s testing the waters. Clarke nods professionally, and Wick nearly falls off the bench.

“Exactly like that,” she agrees. “Good, I’m glad you both know.”

“You are?” Bellamy asks, still a little breathless from how fucking weird this whole conversation is.

“Of course,” Clarke shrugs, taking another bite. “Raven’s a genius. She can help.” She looks quickly to Wick. “And I’ve heard nothing but good things about you,” she assures him, and he’s definitely a goner. The way to Wick’s heart is through compliments. Also, food. Also, Raven.

“So how do _you_ know about Invisi-Bell?” Wick presses, and Clarke scrunches her nose. Bellamy tries not to feel offended, and also not to find it cute.

“That’s a terrible name,” she decides, and he grins. “Surely you could come up with something better.”

“Like what?” Bellamy asks, finishing the last of his pizza.

“Literally anything.”

“Shut up,” Raven says mildly, “It’s a great fucking name. Answer the question.” She pauses. “Please,” she adds, like an afterthought, and Wick looks at her proudly.

“Progress,” he bumps her shoulder with his, and she takes a huge bite of tuna salad to hide her pleased grin.

“She helped me take down Davey Jones last night,” Bellamy shrugs, and Clarke cuts her eyes at him.

“ _I_ took down the Kraken,” she corrects, smug. “While you lay upside-down on the floor. Davey Jones was the ferryman of the dead, not the actual sea monster,” she points out.

Bellamy shrugs, petulant. “Still had tentacles,” he growls, and Raven cackles.

Wick stares at Clarke. “Wait, so you saw Blake going ghost?” he asks, and Clarke frowns at them.

“ _Going ghost_?” she echoes, scrunching her nose in distaste. “That’s _awful._ ” Raven cackles.

Wick turns to her. “Wait, how do _you_ two know each other?” Raven flushes, but Clarke beams.

“She’s started coming to our meetings,” she says proudly, and Bellamy remembers she heads the vegan club at the library.

“You never have any good snacks,” Raven complains. “Kale is the fucking _worst_.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, seemingly unoffended.

“So, you’re a ghost hunter?” Wick asks, trying to seem casual about it, but Bellamy can see the manic glint in his eye.

“She’s The Gryphon,” Bellamy says, and even Raven seems surprised at that.

“Like, _The_ Gryphon?” she clarifies, and Clarke blushes prettily. Bellamy steals an apple slice, mostly just to annoy her.

“My dad was the first one,” Clarke says. “He’s the one you’ve all heard about. I just inherited the suit.”

“What about the badass spin kick?” Bellamy teases, and she grins meanly.

“That comes naturally.”

“Why does everyone else get to be a badass?” Wick whines, stabbing a fork in his cold spaghetti. “I want a cool suit,” he demands. “I can be Bell’s sidekick; the Robin to your Batman.”

“You’d make a terrible sidekick,” Raven says.

“If by _terrible,_ you mean _awesome_ ,” Wick grins. “I’ve got the comedic effect down—Holy ghost cheerleader, Batman!—see? Plus, I’ve got great hair, and I can cheer you on from the sidelines with a homemade poster.”

“Fucking _terrible_ sidekick,” Raven shakes her head.

“We’ll stick that on the backburner for now,” Bellamy decides. Wick can only be told _no_ in vague, diplomatic ways.

They finish their lunch, and Raven and Wick head out early to finish their AP Chem project—a miniature electric chair, which they plan to use to execute Barbie in front of their entire class. It was definitely Raven’s idea. Bellamy rubs at the back of his neck as he and Clarke walk down the hall.

“Sorry about them,” he says. “They’re crazy, but they mean well.”

“I like them,” Clarke frowns. “I think it’s nice, that you have someone you can talk to about everything.”

Bellamy glances at her sharply. “What about you?” he asks stiffly—last night, she tried to suck him into an endless black hole. They’re not exactly _friends_. “Your dad was some hot-shot hunter, right? You must have tons of connections in the ghost community.”

Clarke shrugs, clearly feeling as awkward as him. “He was,” she agrees, “But he died two years ago. It was a hunting accident, so my mom refused to let me have anything to do with that life. But my best friend, his dad hunted with mine for a few years when they were younger, he convinced me to do it anyway. I loved hunting, and I used to go out with my dad sometimes on the easy ones. Wells and I started going out a few nights a week, and it was great at first, but. A few months ago, we went out, and he died. For a while, I quit hunting again. It didn’t feel right going back out there, without him. Last night was my first night back.”

“And how did it feel?” Bellamy asks, unable to stop himself. She grins down at her hands, soft and private. They’re stained with paint and charcoal.

“Good,” she decides. “Like I’m ready.”

“Good,” Bellamy echoes with a grin. “What are you doing around midnight?”

 

“I can’t believe you chose Miss Vegan 2015 over _me_ ,” Wick mutters darkly, kicking at what used to be an enormous acid-spewing lizard.

“Right,” Raven deadpans, “Why would he go for the hot, badass, professional ghost fighter?”

“All I’m saying,” Wick whines, “Is that I’m—” Bellamy folds into him smoothly. When he first overshadowed, it was an accident—Murphy, the asshole soccer team captain, had been ranting loudly about Raven again. They have an ongoing feud that started sometime in Junior High, when he broke her leg in the jungle gym. Since then, she’s managed to successfully electrocute him a few times, and break his nose. It’s pretty safe to say she’s winning.

One minute, Bellamy had been going to swing his fist into Murphy’s jaw, and the next he was _inside his body_. He could make Murphy move wherever he wanted, however he wanted. He could control his voice, and what he said. He ran him into the wall a few times, and then made him call the principal a _fucking asshole cumbucket_ , earning him three weeks’ detention.

Bellamy’s had a lot of practice, since then.

“—An alabaster flower vase, that leaks strawberry filling when wounded. Also, I’m in love with Kevin Bacon.” Bellamy pulls himself back out, as Raven doubles over laughing. Wick glares at them both.

“That wasn’t funny the first hundred times you did it, either,” he grumbles. “I’ve noticed you never do that to the _princess_.”

“That’s because she’s not an idiot,” Raven quips.

Bellamy glances over to where Clarke’s busy hypnotizing the witnesses, convincing them all they didn’t see anything. Her helmet’s off, and her hair glints silver in the moonlight. She’s good with the civilians, calm and comforting. Nothing like the cold, standoffish girl at school. He likes this side better.

They’ve been partners for just a little over two months, now. Things are going well—they sit together in the cafeteria, and then kick paranormal ass at night. Usually, Raven and Wick tag along because they have no real sense of boundaries or self-preservation.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asks, when she’s finished. He’s left Raven and Wick to bicker across the room. Or maybe they’re flirting; at this point, who knows?

Clarke sighs, looking more tired than he’s ever seen. He feels a pang of concern. He hopes she’s sleeping enough every night, and remembering to eat breakfast.

“My mom,” she says, watching the last of the witnesses head home in a daze. “She’s a psychologist.”

“You’re like _Men in Black_ ,” he grins, and she huffs.

“There’s a real science to it,” she protests. “I’m not just holding up some glowing pen to their eyes, and clicking a button!”

“You’re right,” Bellamy agrees. “You _are_ the pen.”

Clarke makes that face like she’s fighting a smile—she’s been doing that a lot, and Bellamy feels smug every time. That’s because of _him_.

Then, all too soon, she’s frowning again. “Bellamy, what are we doing?”

He’d feel nervous she’s breaking up with him, except they aren’t actually dating. “What?”

She frowns up at him, and he wants to rub out the crease in her eyebrows. Or maybe kiss her until she’s relaxed, and smiling again.

That doesn’t really count, though—he _always_ wants to kiss her.

“I mean, what’s the endgame?” she demands. “We go out every night, looking for fights, and that’s _fine_ , but—what about the fight that matters?”

“Like what?” Bellamy asks, breathless. He didn’t really set out to be a vigilante, but he read the comics as a kid, and watched the TV shows. He can’t say the idea doesn’t appeal to him.

Clarke’s face settles into something darker. “I want to find who killed my dad.”

Raven slams into the seat beside them the next day. They’re in the art room in the basement, after school hours. The art club isn’t very big, but the classroom is, and Clarke plainly _refused_ to miss another meeting, so here Bellamy is; spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to mold a chunk of wet clay into a salt shaker, shaped like a dolphin. He keeps having to check google images on his phone, for reference.

Across from him, Clarke has her hair tied back in one of those intricate braids she likes, but several strands are falling all around her face and neck, and she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s working on something in charcoal and pastel, and keeps reaching up to scratch her head, or upper lip, leaving streaks of black or chalky color across her hair and skin. It’s more than a little distracting.

She’s also wearing a tank top, but he’s not even _thinking_ about that. He almost walked into a wall when he saw her that morning.

Raven slumps into the chair at his right, and heaves a sigh. She sets down a few textbooks she probably stole from unsuspecting teachers that she doesn’t like. One of them is for Accounting, and he knows for a fact Raven doesn’t even _take_ Accounting. “I found him,” she says firmly, and the soothing _scritch scratch scritch_ of Clarke drawing, stops. Bellamy holds his breath as she glances up first him, and then Raven.

“You’re sure?” she frowns, and Raven nods. “What’s his name? Who is he? Where do we find him?”

“Wallace,” Raven answers, and Bellamy stares at his gelatinous dolphin, dumbly. Wallace— _The_ Wallace, the most famous ghost hunter in America, murdered Clarke’s dad.

Clarke’s face goes stony. “I’m going to kill him,” she decides, as calmly as if she’d decided she was going to wear green tomorrow.

Bellamy doesn’t doubt her for a moment.

“I know I can’t ask you to—” she starts, but Bellamy interrupts.

“We’re coming with you,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument. Clarke glances at him, grateful, before reverting back to the usual serious and slightly self-loathing.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt,” she says slowly, but Raven snorts.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Raven says, grabbing a handful of clay from the bucket, and kneading like she hates the clay, and everything the clay stands for, and wants to see it cry. “We’re Team Ghost, now. All for one and shit. Plus, Wick’ll never shut up if he’s left behind, and if _I’m_ left, I’ll have to deal with him.”

Clarke grins down at her paper, and then looks at them. “I love you guys,” she says seriously, face earnest, and Bellamy drops his dolphin.

“We love you too,” Raven shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which. They’ve all taken plasma hits for each other, by now. That sort of bonds people.

“Yeah,” Bellamy stammers, and it really shouldn’t be this hard. He _does_ love Clarke, and it’s not like she’s talking about just him, or anything. She’s including Raven, and probably Wick by proxy, and she said she loves them all as _friends_. He can do _friends_.

“So, how do we get to Wallace?” Bellamy asks, staring into the freezer. They’re at his house; it was awkward, the first couple of times, mostly because he knows Clarke is thirty different kinds of _filthy rich_ , and his house has cracks in the ceiling and a minor roach infestation. Also because he kind of really liked her, and being around her for any amount of time was like setting himself on fire.

He still really likes her, but by now he’s used to the burn, and Clarke hasn’t so much as mentioned the splintered wood paneling. She’s sitting on the corner of counter space that’s pretty much become _hers_ , swinging her legs back and forth against the cabinets. He’s looking at the mostly empty box of popsicles. There’s a single blue raspberry left, and he’s debating whether or not it’s worth Octavia’s fury, eating it.

He snatches it and tears at the wrapper with his teeth. He’ll take his chances.

“Well, Wallace never really bothered hiding his identity,” Clarke reads from her notebook. She could easily write everything down in the notes on her phone, but she prefers to do things by hand. There’s ink all over her fingertips. “He was a professor of supernatural studies at Cambridge for forty years, before retiring a few months before my dad died.”

“And how do we know he’s the one that did it?” Bellamy asks, mouth going numb. Clarke looks up to frown at him; they’ve gone over this a few times, now, but he keeps making her repeat it. He wants to make sure she’s positive, and ready to do what needs to be done. Namely, kill Wallace, when it comes to that.

“They worked together for years, hunting the ghost pirate Tristan. Then suddenly, my dad’s dead, and Wallace is taking credit for his life’s work.” She looks at Bellamy’s half-eaten popsicle in distaste. “You know those things are mostly food coloring, right?”

“Are you sure?” Bellamy teases. “Tastes like real fruit to me.” He licks the rest of the juice from the stick, before reading the joke. “What kind of pie does a ghost prefer?”

‘Boo-berry pie,” Clarke drones without looking up from her notes. Bellamy frowns.

“If you don’t eat processed foods, how do you know all the answers to these terrible popsicle stick jokes?”

Clarke looks up at him, serious. “I’m a pun aficionado,” she says with a completely straight face. “I also know all the laffy taffy ones.”

“One day I’m gonna find something you’re not perfect at,” Bellamy growls, tossing his stick in the trash.

Clarke muses for a moment before saying, “I’m pretty bad at gardening. I killed a cactus, once.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Bellamy chirps, and she laughs. “But what I mean is, how do we know it wasn’t really just an accident? The guy used to send you art supplies as a kid, Clarke.”

“I’m aware,” Clarke sighs. “My dad, he—you didn’t know him, but he didn’t just make mistakes, Bell. And after that night, Wallace stopped coming by, he stopped sending my mom letters and Christmas cards, he stopped giving guest lectures. It’s like he just hid himself away in his mansion, and is avoiding the world. I tried to see him, but Cage—his son—had me _escorted_ out.”

“Okay, so the old dude’s a hermit now,” Bellamy shrugs. “That doesn’t make him a murderer.”

Clarke heaves an exasperated sigh and rakes her fingers through her hair, forgetting about the braid, so they’re caught in the tangles. Bellamy crosses over to help unthread them, but he doesn’t let go of her hand once it’s released.

“I’m not doubting you,” he says softly. “I just don’t want you to doubt yourself.”

Clarke nods, and leans so her forehead is pressed to his cheek. Her sharp little nose digs into his neck, and he can feel her breaths warm the skin there. Bellamy knows they probably shouldn’t make out right after discussing her dad’s murder. But that doesn’t stop him _wanting_ to.

He reaches his other hand around to stroke between her shoulder blades, and tells himself he’d do it for any of his other friends. It’s not really a great defense, since he’s also not half in love with any of his other friends. But Clarke just leans further into him, so he figures it’s probably okay.

“Well here’s something I never thought I’d see,” Octavia smirks from the doorway. Bellamy shoots her a glare from over Clarke’s shoulder, but the damage is done; Clarke pulls away and offers him a shaky smile.

“I’m good,” she says, reaching for her notebook, where it slid from her lap.

“Done being the barista’s groupie, already?” Bellamy asks, and Octavia hip-checks him on her way to the fridge.

“He’s an artist,” Octavia shoots back. “He just works at the coffee shop part time.”

“You learn that from stalking him?” He tugs Clarke out of the kitchen without waiting for a response, before Octavia can see that he ate the last popsicle.

He hears a book hit the wall where he’d been standing, a few seconds later.

Prom takes Bellamy by surprise. Between studying for exams, and reading up on Wallace, _and_ ghost hunting every night, he sort of forgot Prom existed, and that as a Junior, he’s expected to go.

“Who are you taking?” he asks Wick at art club. His dolphin was fired in the kiln over the weekend, so he’s working on its mate. They’ll be uneven, but he’s pretending he did it on purpose. Wick’s making some sort of ray gun out of the metal scraps from shop class.

“I don’t know,” Wick shrugs. “It’s supposed to be the most magical night of our lives, you know,” he waggles his eyebrows, and glances at Raven, trying for nonchalance. Bellamy rolls his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’m not going,” Raven says, adding the finishing touches on her helmet. It looks like the kind from WWII, but made completely out of welded metal, with glow-in-the-dark eye stickers all over. “Prom is just another example of society forcing heteronormative, patriarchal concepts on young impressionable minds.”

Wick blinks at her a little dumbly. “You sound like Clarke,” he says, and glances to where the blonde is melting crayons with a hair dryer across the room.

Raven shrugs. “She had a point.”

“So Clarke’s not going, either?” Bellamy fishes, and Raven gives him an unimpressed look, which he doesn’t think is fair. He doesn’t point out when she and Wick are being stupid and obvious with each other; she shouldn’t comment on his thing with Clarke.

“Jasper already asked her,” she says. “She didn’t want to turn him down, but I know for a fact she’s gonna spend the whole night trying to hook him up with one of her vegan friends, Maya. So you should go. Maybe if you look pathetic enough, she’ll even dance with you.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy says dryly. He turns back to Wick. “Wanna be my date?”

“As appealing as the prospect of standing by the wall while you try to flirt with Clarke is,” Wick says, “I think I’ll probably just ask Monroe, or something.”

Across the table, Raven stabs her helmet with a nail gun, with a little more force than necessary. Wick glances at her, warily. Bellamy stands and crosses over to Clarke. Her crayon portrait is more Jackson Pollock than her usual work, but when he looks at it closely, it gives him a vague sort of feeling—like the sensation of walking through walls, or flying through so many clouds he’s still soaked when he goes back to being human.

“Is that supposed to be me?” he jokes, but Clarke looks at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. There’s a little bit of green wax on her chin, which isn’t surprising. She’s always stained with something by the end of the day. “Oh shit, really?” he asks, pleased. She’s drawn him before, but it was always some sort of portrait, usually of him going ghost.

“It’s not finished,” she says, flushing. He’s suddenly very sure that if he asked her to spend all of Prom with him, she would. It’s a little overwhelming.

“I like it,” he says, with a grin so big it’s stupid.

He’s still smiling like an idiot when Roma finds him in the hallway the next day. Bellamy hasn’t really interacted with her much, since he saved her from the random ghost of a pizza delivery boy, some months earlier. Which is strange, since she was really the only reason he paid attention in Physics, or took Computer Sciences. He’d spend the hour badly flirting and letting her copy his notes.

He knows she has a crush on Invisi-Bell, since she _likes_ every picture on his Instagram, just seconds after they’re posted. He also knows that as he continues spending every night sparring and training with Clarke, and hunting, he’s looking more and more like his counterpart. His shoulders have gotten broader, his arms and legs more muscular, and his abs are starting to show through. He’s recently gone through a growth spurt, and now stands at nearly six feet. He was always sort of lanky, but now he’s sort of grown into his own limbs, and it feels more than a little gratifying.

He knows how good he looks, now. Raven’s constantly going back and forth between calling him _Captain Gregg in the body of an Abercrombie & Fitch model_, and _a Neanderthal, with admittedly great abs._ Even Wick has mentioned, on occasion, that if his heart didn’t already belong to Summer Glau, he would definitely tap that.

Clarke has remained infuriatingly quiet on the subject.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Roma says, sliding into the space between him and his locker. He glances around—he’d been walking with Miller, who he sort of knows from Gym class, but he’s disappeared.

“Uh, hey,” Bellamy shifts. “What’s up, Roma?”

“What are you doing on Prom night?” she asks with a smile, and that’s how Bellamy gets a date for Prom.

“So, the girl you’ve had a crush on since freshman year just _asked_ _you to the biggest dance of the year_ ,” Wick says, incredulous. “Dude, how is this your life? Maybe _I_ should try dying once in a while.”

Bellamy shrugs from where he’s sitting, his back against the sofa as they play Fallout 3. Raven and Clarke are at their monthly vegan meeting, which is still confusing, since Raven isn’t actually vegan. She claims it’s for moral support.

“Yeah, it’s cool I guess,” he says, noncommittal. He can feel Wick staring at him for a moment, before the game is suddenly paused.

“Nope,” Wick declares, popping the _p_. “No way; you don’t get to just _shrug off_ going to Prom with the girl you’ve liked since puberty.” He eyes Bellamy, who tries not to fidget. “Is this about Clarke?”

“Is what about Clarke?” Bellamy asks, playing dumb. Wick glares.

“Are you seriously in love with the cute, tortured vigilante girl? I mean, it’s cool, she’s great and whatever, I just didn’t know that was your type.”

Bellamy shrugs, uncomfortable. “Clarke’s awesome,” he says, purposefully vague.

“That’s adorable,” Wick says wryly. Bellamy clears his throat, and unpauses the game.

 “What’s adorable?” Octavia asks, marching in like she’s going to battle. In her defense, Octavia’s pretty much _always_ about to go into battle.

“Your brother’s in love with Clarke,” Wick chirps, and Octavia grins.

“Cool, I like her,” she declares. “She helped me with my art project last week.”

“I’m not in love with her,” Bellamy grouses. “And stop making my friends do your homework!”

“The teacher said to use all available resources,” Octavia tosses over her shoulder as she marches out.

They’ve finished the game by the time Raven and Clarke show up. Raven flops down on the cushion beside Wick, jostling Bellamy with her knees so he grumbles, while Clarke folds herself down beside him.

“What’re you two losers up to?” Raven asks, pulling at Wick’s chin. He’s experimenting with facial hair.

“Blake’s got a date to Prom,” Wick smirks. “With _Roma_.” He rolls his _r_ and leers a little. Raven nudges Bellamy with her foot.

“Really? Is it a pity date?”

“She asked me, asshole,” Bellamy growls, and Clarke pats his shoulder consolingly.

“Congrats, Bell,” she says with a little smile, and he feels a little nauseas. “Are you busy tonight, or can you help me with some recon?”

Bellamy frowns; they only go hunting every other night, now, because Clarke was worried about not studying enough for exams. “I thought we were going out tomorrow?”

Clarke flushes, which is unexpected, but completely welcome. He wants to encourage Clarke blushing at every opportunity; it’s one of his favorite things. “Raven’s insisting I spend all of tomorrow, getting ready for the dance at her house.”

Bellamy glances up to see Raven smirking proudly. “What about the patriarchy?” Wick asks, and she shrugs.

“Fuck men,” she says mildly, “Sometimes girls wanna look pretty just to look pretty.”

“You always look pretty,” Wick says, like it’s obvious. Raven stares at him for a moment, while Bellamy and Clarke hold their breath on the floor. Finally, Raven goes tense and jumps to her feet.

“You’re an idiot, Kyle,” she snaps, storming out. They stare after her, bewildered, and Clarke slowly stands.

“I should go after her,” she decides, giving them both a weak wave before leaving.

“What the hell,” Wick breathes, running a hand through his hair until it stands up in wild tuffs. “She called me _Kyle_.”

Clarke collects Bellamy that night. She’s wearing her suit, but not the helmet, so her hair is curly and wild around her face. She doesn’t tell him where they’re going and he doesn’t ask, just follows as she leads him a few blocks down, towards the old glass factory.

Bellamy isn’t sure what he’d really expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t the pretty ghost that greets them at the door, and hugs Clarke warmly like an old friend.

“This is Lexa,” Clarke says, and Bellamy lets the ghost girl appraise him. She’d smiled at Clarke just a minute ago, he saw it, but now she looks hard and distrustful. “She died in the fire that shut this factory down. We used to date.”

“Wait, what?” Bellamy says, and Lexa smirks at him. Clarke looks a little smug, like she’s pleased she surprised him.

“When I was still new to hunting,” she explained, looking fondly at Lexa. “She helped teach me not all spirits are bad.”

“You’re the hybrid phantom boy?” Lexa sniffs.

“I guess,” Bellamy says slowly, still stuck on the part where Clarke _dated a ghost_. He wasn’t even aware until now that he was worried that side of him was why she wasn’t interested. “So, just to be clear,” he turns to Clarke as Lexa leads them down the hallway. “Being a ghost—or, uh, part ghost—that isn’t a deal breaker?”

Clarke smirks. “No, Bellamy,” she says, clearly trying not to laugh. “I like to think I’m open-minded.”

“You’re definitely something,” he mumbles, ducking so he doesn’t hit his head on the metal overhang. Lexa leads them to what might have once been an office.

“It is in the bottom drawer,” she says, and Clarke kneels by the file cabinet.

“What is?” Bellamy asks, peering over her shoulder.

“Something that’ll help us beat Wallace,” Clarke says, sticking her hand in the drawer. She pulls out a necklace. It looks old, with a gold chain, and some sort of green pendant dangling form the center. She stuffs it down the collar of her suit, and Bellamy tries not to think about where it’s going.

“Thank you, Lexa,” Clarke says, and the ghost kisses her cheek before fading back into the wall.

Bellamy stares at the spot where Lexa just stood. “So why didn’t it work out with you two?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice casual.

Clarke eyes him carefully and then shrugs. “She found someone else—another phantom that she knew when she was alive. Costia. She’s nice.”

“That sucks,” Bellamy says, rubbing his neck awkwardly. As far as he knows, Clarke hasn’t ever really dated anyone at their school—he wonders if this is why. It’s probably pretty hard, getting over a ghost. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Clarke shrugs again, shutting the door behind them as they leave. “I’m not.” She takes his hand as he walks her home, and he tries not to feel too hopeful about it.

Wick shows up at Bellamy’s house in a powder blue tux that he somehow pulls off, and a bowtie.

“Where’s your date?” Bellamy asks. Atom has already picked up Octavia, and suffered through pictures for their mom. He’s pretty sure O doesn’t even _like_ Atom; she just wanted to go to the dance.

“I’m going stag,” Wick says. “There aren’t many girls who can handle this much awesome.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, and folds inside him. He walks Wick all the way to Raven’s doorstep, and then rings the bell before stepping outside his body. Wick glares up at where he hovers above the sidewalk.

“You do that way too much,” Wick accuses. “There are easier ways to make me do things.”

“Yeah, but this way’s more fun,” Bellamy says, and goes invisible as the door opens to reveal Raven, in a dark violet, Victorian gown. She looks stunning, and Wick looks ready to pass out. She stares down at him, smug.

“It’s about damn time,” she says, marching down her porch steps until they’re nearly eye-level.

“Ah, fuck,” Wick groans, and then kisses her. He pulls away pretty quickly, but Raven just growls and calls him an idiot, before pulling him back.

Bellamy leaves pretty soon after that, because he’s pretty sure staying any longer would make him a creep. Not that he isn’t one, already, but he wants to keep some semblance of standards.

He and Roma decided to meet at the school, but when he gets there, Clarke’s the one he seeks out. That’s not really a big surprise, but he still feels a little bad about it. Until he actually _sees_ her.

She looks fantastic, as expected, but also incredibly _different_. He’d expected a simple dress, maybe pink or red or something, and a little lipstick, and maybe something done with her hair.

Her dress is blue, and it’s low-cut and floor length, with a slit up the thigh that he really wants to fit his hand through. Her hair’s piled up on her hair in a nest of braids, with flowers throughout the folds, and some of the strands are dyed the same green as his phantom plasma, which shouldn’t really turn him on as much as it does. The necklace is around her neck, pendant nestled right between her breasts, which he just _doesn’t need right now_. His pants are a little tight. He should have thought this through, more.

Lexa’s also standing next to her, semi-transparent. She’s wearing an old-fashioned dress made of white lace, and sipping from a red solo cup, looking thoroughly unhappy.

“Lexa,” Bellamy nods as he strides up to them. He glances at Clarke in question, and she grins.

“She wanted to experience Prom,” she shrugs, and Lexa’s face scrunches up in disgust.

“It is as repugnant as expected,” she declares. “Lovely to see you both.” She disappears through the floor, and Clarke sighs with fond exasperation.

Bellamy clears his throat. “So,” he says. “Your hair…”

She smiles up at him, expectant, and he reaches out to finger one of the green strands. “Raven did it,” she explains. “She wanted purple, but. I picked green.”

“Why green?” Bellamy asks, grinning. She’s blushing again, and has a sloppy smile on her mouth, and he’s pretty sure that if he kisses her right now, she’ll probably kiss him back.

“It’s your color,” she says, “ _Obviously_.”

Bellamy lets his hand dip down to brush her neck, and she shivers. “Want to dance?” she asks, hopeful. He doesn’t want to dance, not really. He wants to drag her off into the bathroom, or an empty classroom, or behind the building and make out. He wants to kneel down and stick his head in that slit and mouth between her thighs until she’s sobbing.

But dancing sounds nice, too.

“Absolutely,” he grins, and she grins back, and he knows he should probably feel bad about Roma waiting for him by the punchbowl or something, but he really, really _can’t_. Clarke’s pressed right up against him, and his thumbs are brushing against the curve of her ass as they sway in one spot. It feels better than flying.

That’s when Wallace crashes in through the door.

Bellamy doesn’t hesitate—he goes ghost, and starts shooting bursts of green towards the hunter. But Wallace is a seasoned veteran, and avoids them easily. He has his own, modified Thermos, that looks like a leaf blower, with twice the suction. Bellamy feels it pulling him in, and he can’t move.

The kids and chaperone, and the DJ hired off Craigslist, are all screaming and running for the emergency exits, which is good. He doesn’t want civilians to get caught up in the battle. He’s still being dragged in by the machine, blindly grabbing for anything to hold onto.

But then Clarke is there, reaching up to tear the mask from Wallace’s face. Bellamy turns when she gasps, and finds her staring at a man decidedly too young to be the real Wallace, by at least thirty years.

He grins down at her meanly, and Bellamy grits his teeth— _he still can’t move_.

“Cage,” Clarke says, shocked.

“Surprised?” Cage asks, and Clarke punches him in the throat. The Thermos stutters off for a minute, just long enough for Bellamy to sink through the floor out of its pathway.

When he returns, Cage is giving some sort of villainous monologue that makes him want to gag. Clarke looks just as annoyed, and reaches up for the pendant—only to find it’s not there. It must have fallen off in the chaos, and her eyes go wide with panic.

“Looking for this?” Raven asks, dangling the necklace from a finger. She goes to clip it on, as Clarke shouts for her to stop. Wick tosses Bellamy the ray gun he finished in art club the day before.

Bellamy catches it, and manages to shoot Wallace once in the shoulder before the Thermos kicks back on.

But by then, Raven’s already a dragon.

“This isn’t what I expected,” she says, voice rough and booming. Then she grins maniacally, showing off her rows of giant teeth, and turns to Wallace. “Hope that dumb suit’s fireproof,” she says, and flames pour out of her mouth.

“Bell!” Clarke calls, trying to run out of the fire’s path, but she’s small, and she’s wearing a dress, and she’s not going to make it.

Bellamy sweeps over, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her through the wall with him. On the other side, he stares down at her charred dress and ruined up-do. “If we get out of this alive,” he says, “I’m asking you on a date.”

“If we get out of this,” Clarke pants, “I’m having sex with you.”

Bellamy winces, gripping her arms even tighter. “That’s some incentive, princess,” he mutters.

“That’s sort of the point,” she says, and he kisses her.

It’s not as long, or deep as he’d like, because they’re sort of in a fight to the death. But it’s wet and desperate and perfect. She tangles her fingers in the lapels of his jacket, and he knots his up in her hair. She licks at his mouth and he groans into hers and she laughs.

“Raincheck,” he sighs, and walks back through the wall.

“Nice of you to show up eventually,” Raven says, and she’s still a dragon, so her voice echoes across the stadium. But she’s licking her scaly lips and looking very proud of herself, and there’s a scorched mess steaming in the corner that’s probably Wallace. Or what’s left of him.

“You should probably take it off now,” Clarke calls out. She’d had to walk around the building and enter through the doors, like a normal person.

Raven makes a face. “No fun,” she grumbles, but raises a claw to flick the expanded chain off of her neck. All at once, she’s herself again, necklace in hand. Clarke takes it, and puts it in her smoke-stained clutch.

Wick slithers up from wherever he’d hidden during the whole ordeal, looking smug. “My girlfriend’s a _dragon_ ,” he brags, and Raven rolls her eyes but then ruins it by kissing him. “You taste like burnt overlord,” he mumbles and she laughs.

“Wow, I think I prefer you as a ghost,” Octavia decides, walking out of the shadows. She’s lost her shoes, probably so she could run quicker, but she doesn’t look upset about it. In fact, she looks altogether unsurprised by everything that just happened.

Bellamy glances down at himself in alarm; he’s still Invisi-Bell, so how did she recognize him? “You knew?” he asks, incredulous, and Octavia rolls her eyes.

“Of course I knew,” she snaps. “I’m not an idiot, Bell.”

“Since when?” he demands. He’s taken a lot of pains to hide this from his sister, and he’s a little annoyed she found out, anyway.

“Since Wick posted that first picture to Instagram,” she shrugs, completely unapologetic. “I was waiting for you to tell me yourself, but you never did,” she says a little softer, and all his annoyance dissolves.

Bellamy swings an arm around her shoulders to drag her close, and drops a kiss on her hair. “I didn’t want you to worry,” he smiles.

“Too fucking late,” she growls, but hugs him back. Then she pulls away—Octavia can only handle so much affection. “I’m heading home to wash away the smell of dragon breath,” she wrinkles her nose.

“Hey,” Raven crows, indignant. “ _That’s_ the smell of saving the world.”

“Saving the world smells disgusting,” Octavia shoots back, strutting out.

Raven turns her glare on the other Blake, and points a warning finger. "Don't hurt Clarke," she orders, "If there's a divorce, we're keeping her."

Bellamy eyes her a little pensively. "Aren't you supposed to be  _my_ friends?" he asks, but he can't put much heat into it, because Clarke is right beside him, rubbing her warm hand across the small of his back. Raven shrugs.

"She's cooler than you," she says. "And if you hurt her, I'll kick your ass."

"You were more intimidating as a dragon," Bellamy shoots. Clarke folds her hand into his, and he turns to find her beaming up at him.

"You know, this is supposed to be the most magical night of our lives," he tells her.

"Well there was a dragon," she muses, and he loves her a ridiculous amount.

"There was a dragon."

“So, about that date,” she starts.

“Did I mention I can fly?” Bellamy grins, tugging her across the floor. “We can go literally anywhere. I can take you to a cattle ranch, and help you free all the cows.”

Clarke reaches a hand around his neck. “My hero,” she sighs, and drags him down for a kiss.


End file.
